“It is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society.” — Jiddu Krishnamurti

I was at a park recently with my kids, all of them, actually, which happens less and less these days as they get older. It’s a challenge to watch four kids at once, so I’m grateful that my two teenagers could help with the supervising.

Mainly, I was watching my youngest son. He just turned five, and like most five-year-old boys, he is a whirlwind. He wakes up ready to sprint. He is nonstop energy and talks more than anyone I have ever met. And like all kids his age, he repeats everything he hears, at least once.

I do not censor my language around my kids. I know opinions on this vary wildly, and while I am usually open to debate, my mind is set on this one. Words only have the power you give them, and it takes a narrow mind to be genuinely offended by a syllable. That said, I believe in decorum. There is a time and a place for composure, especially in public or when speaking to strangers. But in casual conversation, in my own home or my car? I say what I want.

Consequently, I’m never shocked when my kids swear; they very well may have learned it from me, and I’m okay with that. My approach has always been simple: I don’t overreact or make a scene. I just tell them calmly that they aren’t allowed to use that word yet, that it’s an adult word. It works. I’ve never heard any of them repeat a word after that talk. At least, not around me.

I grew up in a much less understanding environment, particularly where the “Lord’s name” was concerned.

As my five-year-old was playing at the park, he randomly blurted out, “Jesus Christ!”

I am not religious, but I was raised in the church, and some of my favorite people in the world are Christians. I hold them in the highest regard, so I never mean to offend. Still, religious or not, I don’t think that’s a particularly appropriate phrase for a five-year-old to shout. Had we been at home, I would have handled it the exact same way I handle any other swear word.

This time, however, ‌we were in public, and I was watching at the right time.

I could see the surrounding parents react and pull their kids away from him. He didn’t feel that sudden wall of condemnation, but I did. I recognized it instantly because it’s exactly how I was raised, brought up by followers of the Lion of the Tribe of Judah who were utterly terrified of words.

That fear, that hair-trigger reaction to “evil,” is the thing I’ve never understood. The “Word” Himself said, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.” The Apostle Paul would go on to say, “What business is it of mine to judge those outside the church? Are you not to judge those inside? God will judge those outside.”

Yet in modern America, we have taken a very different stance, rendering the non-conformist : persona non grata. In the land of the “free” and the home of the “brave” , a land founded on religious freedom, the actual rule of the land is to conform or be cast out.

So on that day, standing there at the park, my reaction was not to rebuke my child, but to prepare him. It’s a heavy lesson to teach a five-year-old, but a necessary one: In America, sometimes you have to pretend to fit the mold, or the doors will close on you before you even walk through them.

It is a profound and sad realization that I’m teaching my son to “adjust” to a sick society just enough so he doesn’t get crushed by it, while secretly preserving his health and freedom behind closed doors.